


make the world seem choiceless

by shineyma



Series: talbot's wrath [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, F/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: It's time for Plan H. [An AU of my fic(you know) you're not safe here.]





	make the world seem choiceless

**Author's Note:**

> I did an AU meme (give me the name of a fic/verse and I'll write an AU of it) over on tumblr like...a week ago. And now, finally, I have managed to actually complete an AU! Two separate anons asked for AUs of "(you know) you're not safe here" and so here we are!
> 
> I _think_ you can understand this without reading the original fic, but there's a lot more background/explanation in the original, so if you're confused about anything, you might wanna check that out. Okay? Okay.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review! <3

Ten minutes before the force field protecting the Playground fails, Coulson and May pull Jemma aside.

“Okay,” Coulson says. “I’m not throwing in the towel just yet, but I think it’s time we went to Plan H.”

“All right,” Jemma agrees…and then, when Coulson fails to elaborate, asks, “What’s Plan H?”

“Not sure,” Coulson says. “I haven’t come up with it yet.”

It’s such a _Coulson_ answer that Jemma can’t help smiling, despite their fairly dire circumstances…which might be what Coulson was going for, actually, as her own smile draws a matching one from him.

May seems a little less amused. “Phil.”

“Right,” Coulson says, still smiling. “We do have one part of Plan H figured out. Hold out your arm.”

“Oh?” Jemma asks, doing so—and then flinches in surprise as Coulson snaps a tracking bracelet around her wrist. “Sir?”

All traces of amusement disappear from Coulson’s face as he takes the tablet May’s holding and (Jemma presumes) punches in the parameters for the bracelet’s restrictive technology.

“I’d like to believe that Talbot’s a better man than to take his grief out on you,” he explains as he does so. “But what he’s lost would drive anyone to extremes.”

Jemma’s stomach turns in unpleasant realization. Her hand trembles as it steals to the slight swell that shelters her growing child.

“An eye for an eye,” she says. “You think he might—in retaliation for his son’s death—”

“It’s a possibility,” May says soberly.

“And either way, we’re not willing to risk it,” Coulson agrees. “So…Plan H.”

Jemma lifts her wrist to examine the bracelet, but…nothing stands out. It’s a typical tracking bracelet, simple metal with a miniscule SHIELD eagle etched discreetly into the hinge. She has no idea how restricting her access to technology is meant to protect her unborn child—unless it’s the tracking element Coulson is counting on, but that makes even less sense. There’s something here she’s not seeing.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says. “I don’t follow.”

Coulson taps the bracelet. “That’s your insurance policy. If the worst happens and Talbot gets his hands on you, tell him you’re a prisoner.”

The tracking bracelet would restrict her movement in the Playground, but not _that_ severely.

“A prisoner who’s been given mostly free run of the base?” she asks.

“No,” May says. “A prisoner whose cooperation is ensured by the hostage we’re holding against her behavior.”

The penny drops—and Jemma’s heart falls with it. “Ward.”

“Yeah.” Coulson gives her a little shrug, as if to ask _what can you do_? “Ward.”

It makes sense. Ward, in addition to being the father of her child, is very clearly a prisoner; even if he _weren’t_ locked away in Vault D, his “Unabomber beard” (as Skye has taken to calling it), the still-healing scars from his attempts at suicide, and his generally subdued demeanor would all serve as handy evidence that he’s spent the last four months in captivity.

So, yes, it makes sense. If captured, Jemma can claim she was only working for SHIELD under threat—that she didn’t dare disobey any orders she was given, for fear her child’s father (as any DNA test will quickly prove) would suffer the consequences. It just might work to convince Talbot of her innocence, but—

“What about the rest of you?” she demands. “I can’t just throw you all under the bus to save my own skin!”

“It’s not _your_ skin you’ll be saving,” Coulson reminds her gravely—and then immediately lightens. “Besides, there’s no need to worry about us. Worst comes to worst, I’ll just call in the Avengers.”

That’s certainly an exciting prospect…but Jemma refuses to be distracted. “If I pretend you’ve been threatening me this way—”

“No ‘if’ about it,” Coulson interrupts, serious once more. “I’m making this a direct order, Simmons: if you’re captured, you say whatever you have to say to convince them you’re innocent in all of this.”

Her eyes sting. She blinks rapidly to clear her swiftly blurring vision.

“Even if it means condemning the rest of you?” she asks—somewhat plaintively, she fears.

“Even then,” May confirms. Her voice is soft, perhaps even sympathetic, but that in no way lessens the steel behind the words. She’s resolute; they both are.

“Whatever it takes.” Coulson places a fatherly hand on Jemma’s shoulder. “That’s an order, Jemma.”

Jemma swallows. “Yes, sir.”

 

+++

 

The good news is, Coulson’s plan works. Jemma isn’t given the chance to speak with the invading soldiers at first, but they scan her for weapons before loading her into a prisoner transport vehicle, and once their scan picks up on her tracking bracelet, she’s given an opening to share the lie.

Fear does nothing to improve her lacking skill in deception; she sounds just as wooden and stilted as ever, and she fears at first that they won’t believe her. But perhaps they take her awkward _I’m lying_ tone as a sign of grief or despair or something of the like, because believe her they do. She’s separated from the others and taken before Talbot in short order.

Talbot _also_ buys her story—although in his case, she’s inclined to think it’s due to his willingness to believe the worst of Coulson, rather than any particular persuasiveness on her part—and within the hour, Jemma finds herself bundled off to the infirmary of Talbot’s base. There, a surprisingly sympathetic military doctor fusses over her unfortunate head wound and makes noises about what he’d like to do to the kind of bastards who threaten and injure a pregnant woman.

That’s the good news.

The _bad_ news is that Jemma was so busy worrying about the fall-out her lie would cause for her team, she didn’t consider the other inevitable consequences.

Namely, the military being given cause to believe that Ward is just as innocent as she is.

 

+++

 

Jemma is curled in her assigned bed, contemplating a nap—it would be her third today; the baby leeches her energy like nothing else ever has, and not even worry over where and how the team is right now can keep her awake—when a knock sounds at her door.

Startled, she turns to check the clock. The doctor ordered her an ultrasound, just for her peace of mind, but she had the impression it would be several hours yet before they arrived to take her to it. But then, the reasoning was something about tracking down the one doctor on base who’s qualified to assess sonograms of fetuses—perhaps they found her more easily than her doctor expected to?

Either way, there’s no call to leave anyone waiting in the corridor just because they’re earlier than she expected.

“Come in,” she calls.

The door swings open, and one of the soldiers who guards the hall (airmen, she believes they’re called) shows Ward in.

Jemma bolts upright.

“It’s okay,” Ward soothes, hurrying to her side. “Don’t get up, sweetheart.”

Jemma meets his eyes, wondering just how much he knows—and gets her answer in the hand he rests softly on her middle.

(It can’t be wonder she sees in his face as his hand follows the curve of her stomach. It _can’t_.)

“Did they hurt you?” he asks.

“No,” she says, and steels herself not to flinch as he reaches out to brush her hair away from the newly stitched wound in her temple. “That is, it’s nothing. Wh—what about you?”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says, sounding so earnest she could almost believe he cares. “You’re _sure_ you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says. In distinct contrast to Ward, she fears her tone wouldn’t convince even the most credulous person…but it doesn’t seem to matter. She’s not even sure Ward hears her; he turns to watch the airman leave, waits to make sure the door closes fully, and then turns again to face her with a wholly different expression.

“What,” he says, “the _hell_.”

Jemma almost laughs. “How much did they tell you?”

“Not a damn thing,” he says, sounding irritated. “They apologized for how long it took to get to me and someone mentioned an ultrasound, but that’s about it.”

His hand hasn’t moved from her stomach; it flexes a bit as he says the word _ultrasound_. Jemma chooses not to read into that.

But perhaps she should. She’s counting on his cooperation—if he contradicts her story, tells Talbot the truth that he’s Hydra and she’s an enthusiastic, loyal member of SHIELD, he could doom their child. Whether he might be willing to condemn her out of spite, she’s not certain…but if he cares about this baby, he might be convinced to play along.

If he _doesn’t_ …

The only thing for it is to give him the truth and hope for the best, she supposes.

“Very well,” she says. “The short version is that Hydra managed to frame Coulson for the deaths of Talbot’s—you remember Talbot?—wife and son.”

Ward’s eyes drop to her stomach, and his eyes widen in comprehension. “Ah.”

“The location of the Playground was betrayed, and we were trapped with no way out. So…”

“So you decided to pretend Coulson was running his own kind of incentives program,” Ward concludes. “You told them he was threatening me to make you work for him.”

“Essentially, yes,” she says.

“Was that necessary?” he asks.

Jemma thinks of her meeting with Talbot—of the fanatical look in his eye, how quick he was to accept her hardly-convincing tale of woe…the way he extrapolated an even worse possibility as soon as he laid eyes on her (he actually assumed she’d been forcibly impregnated as a means of control)—and has to suppress a shiver.

“Yes,” she says, and—just to have something to do—straightens the blanket over her legs. “Talbot’s quite mad, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah.” Ward runs a hand over his beard. “And in contact with my brother, apparently.”

…That could be bad. Christian Ward, Jemma knows, is a senator who’s been making no little noise over the evils of SHIELD. If he’s joined forces with Talbot, it could spell disaster for not just the team, but SHIELD as a whole.

Wait. “I thought you hadn’t been told anything.”

“I might have exaggerated.” Ward shrugs, utterly shameless to be caught in a lie.

Jemma scoffs. “Of course you did.”

“But hey,” he says, “I didn’t get _all_ the details—and they couldn’t exactly tell me why you were lying to them, now could they?”

His hand is still on her stomach and—irritated by his smugness—she knocks it away. In response, he catches her hand and laces their fingers.

“I wanted to get the lay of the land,” he says, low and intimate. “Can you blame me?”

“For that? No,” she says. She hopes her own tone conveys how very, very much she still blames him for everything _else_ he’s done.

It must not; his answering smile is far too fond.

She tugs her hand out of his. The smile fades.

“You and I both know,” he says, very quietly, “that it’s only a matter of time before Coulson wiggles his way out of this.”

Jemma only wishes she had his faith. If she lets herself truly contemplate it, the potential fate awaiting her team makes her ill.

“And when he does,” Ward continues, “chances are good—too good—that crazy Talbot’s wrath is gonna fall on you.”

She hadn’t considered that, but…he’s not wrong. Talbot’s willing to show mercy to her as a victim of Coulson’s _now_ , when Coulson is safely in his custody and true revenge is within his grasp…but if Coulson manages to escape somehow? If the man Talbot blames for the deaths of his wife and son is out of reach?

If Jemma is left as the only possible target for Talbot’s revenge, he may be moved to overlook her supposed status as unwilling and use her as a scapegoat. She could end up right back where she started: at real, serious risk of losing her unborn child to Talbot’s madness.

“What are you saying?” she asks, and hates the tremor in her voice.

For a moment—just a moment—Ward looks every bit as unhappy as she feels. Then the emotion slots away behind a mask ( _is_ it a mask? Or was the unhappiness? Perhaps they’re _both_ masks; there’s just no way to know, not with Ward) of smug assurance.

“I’m saying that my family has money and power and, apparently, connections to Talbot,” he says. “And that we can use those.”

His hand comes to rest on her stomach once more, and Jemma feels the slight fluttering sensation her research indicates is called quickening. It’s a prelude to the kicking she’ll experience in later months—and, unlike said kicking, is undetectable to anyone else. The baby isn’t strong enough yet to truly make an impact, and so only Jemma can feel the fluttering, like butterfly wings against her insides.

Tiny, undetectable motions from her tiny, unborn child. Slight, fragile movements from a slight, fragile being.

Her child— _their_ child—is defenseless. Jemma alone can protect the baby from the consequences of her allegiance.

Or she can refuse to play along with a murderous, psychotic traitor’s games…and doom them both.

“Use them how?” she asks.

“By playing into Talbot’s delusions,” Ward says. “From what he said, it sounded like Christian is in on this little crusade?”

“As far as we can tell, he started him on it,” Jemma confirms. “The senator has been rallying to have the UN create a task force to hunt down any remaining SHIELD agents.”

Ward’s face darkens.

“Of course he has,” he mutters, and then seems to shake himself. “Point is, it’ll give Christian’s cause a hell of a boost if he can trot out sob stories about SHIELD falsely imprisoning a former agent and forcing his pregnant girlfriend to work for them.”

Jemma has to bite her tongue at ‘ _falsely_ imprisoning’—and then bite it even harder at the word _girlfriend_ —but she’s not so annoyed that she can’t follow Ward’s train of thought.

“Enough of a boost that he’d be willing to take us off the Air Force’s hands and provide us with protection,” she surmises.

He smiles tightly. “Yeah. It’s been a long time since I had anything to do with my family, but if we can give Christian this kinda support in the run-up to midterms…I figure that’s enough to get us welcomed with open arms.”

Leaving Ward, Jemma, and their unborn child in comfort and safety…and every SHIELD agent on the planet in twice as much danger as before.

Can she justify supporting that?

Or perhaps she should ask, can she justify _not_ supporting it?

As if in response, she feels the quickening again—like her baby, her tiny helpless baby, is reaching out to her in plea.

Jemma thinks briefly of Coulson ordering her to do whatever it takes…but no. No, if she’s going to do this, she must face her own responsibility. She won’t hide behind her orders.

If she does this—if she plays along with Ward and helps his brother convince the United Nations to fully condemn SHIELD—she must accept that it was her own choice.

A choice between her team (and everyone else like them—the countless struggling former SHIELD agents just trying to do the right thing, to fulfill their duty and protect the innocent, even without the support of a global agency) and her child.

That, she realizes, is no choice at all.

“I suppose you’re right,” she says softly—and, with a deep breath, lays her hand atop his, that she might lace their fingers over the swell of her stomach. “Do you know how to contact him?”

Ward meets her eyes for a long moment, and several indefinable things pass between them. Even as hopeless as she (as anyone, really) is at reading him, she knows they’re in agreement: for the sake of their child, they will uphold this lie for as long and as far as they can.

No matter what it means, no matter what it _takes_ —even if they must pretend the last four months never happened, that he never kidnapped and threatened her and she never happily left him to rot in an underground cell—even if she must stand aside and watch her entire team executed as traitors—no matter what, they will sell this story she’s spun for Talbot.

They will _protect their child_.

“Yeah,” Ward says. “Yeah, I know how to get in touch.”

“Then do that,” she orders—asks? Begs? She can barely hear herself over the pounding in her ears. She can’t define her own tone. “And we’ll go from there.”

“We’ll go from there,” Ward echoes in agreement. “But… _after_ your ultrasound, okay? I wanna be there for that.”

Her first instinct is to say no, that she doesn’t want him anywhere near it. But this, too, she supposes, she must allow.

They’re in this together now, whether she likes it or not.

He’s all she’ll have—him and their child.

“After, then,” she agrees, and Ward smiles.

It’s unsettling, but only for how unsettling it _isn’t_. It’s not a cruel smile, not malicious or intimidating or even cold. By all appearances, it’s a warm, genuine expression of happiness.

Jemma doesn’t know what to do with it…any more than she knows what to do with the way he moves, sliding along the bed to sit against the headboard with her and tucking her under his arm.

Grief and fear have chilled her terribly, but Ward is warm—warm and familiar. She remembers the way he comforted her at the Hub, how he held her close and wiped away her tears, and for once, the memory isn’t accompanied by a rush of fury.

They’re in this together…so she rests her head against his shoulder, curls into his side, and lets herself be comforted once more.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises lowly, and Jemma—despite herself—believes him.


End file.
